


Posthumous Advice

by Ravenstag



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Charlie gets dropped into a lake, Charlie's POV, Darko makes a brief cameo, M/M, Oneshot, Oral, Smut, Swearing, so much swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenstag/pseuds/Ravenstag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if, all this time, Charlie Countryman hadn't been chasing the Ibanescu girl... but trying to get the attention of the assassin she called a husband? </p>
<p>Little porn drabble for Nigel/Charlie lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Posthumous Advice

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction on AO3 and the first I think I've really written in a while. ^^; I have no beta reader, so any mistakes herein are mine and I take full responsibility for them.
> 
> The movie inspired me to write this, though it might be an odd pairing. Comments and advice are always appreciated. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.

Things like this weren’t meant to happen to him. He was just some small town American boy fulfilling his mother’s dying wish, or dead wish – he couldn’t really be certain. He certainly wasn’t anywhere near prepared for what he would have faced when she uttered those words to him.

“Go to Bucharest. That seems decisive.” So he did, packed his meagre belongings and left.

Things changed when he first saw Gabi, crying over that stupid hat Victor Ibanescu had asked him to deliver. He couldn’t say that had gone too well either; the guy he asked to translate for him told the Immigration officer the hat wasn’t his, which landed him in the damned office, uncomfortable and squirming beneath the gaze of an immigration officer with a short temper.

That had led to an _insurmountable_ amount of weirdness and he wondered, in retrospect, if he hadn’t been off his fucking face when he decided to take his shirt off in the airport. It may have had some of her dad’s drool on it, sentimental value, but still weird nonetheless. That set him down on the path that would have him encountering her psychotic separated husband, Nigel, with increasing regularity. Nigel had threatened while Charlie was off his face, but also when he was aware, and Nigel had successfully freaked him out.

Yet he still pursued her, though as it progressed, his reasons became increasingly unclear, even to him. It didn’t take the drugs that Karl and Luc had given him to know that emotions were making his actions more erratic, less sane. Yet now, one thing he knew for certain, he wasn’t going to take any other fucking advice from a dead person, mom or not. It was what had him in this mess. 

Painted like a pretty, bruised picture and dangling from a rope over a fucking lake, with a fucking madman holding the rope, and another holding that tape he’d tried so hard to get for her. All of the evidence of what that bastard Nigel had done, burning and melting, destroyed. Nigel would walk from here a free man, if the police didn’t get there first; he knew they’d be on their way from the gunshots they would’ve heard. He didn’t hold out much hope, the officer that had yelled at him in multiple languages to get his fucking bags hadn’t noticed when he’d disappeared from the youth hostel.

It was surreal, dangling upside down from one leg, as Gabi told him her place was with Nigel. He saw the smug smile on the face of the Romanian, he’d won and his prize was standing beside him. It was something he’d come to realise in the few days since he’d known the odd pair; Nigel’s love was all consuming, fierce and obsessive. He would do anything, kill anyone, to prove his love and keep it from the eyes of others. He owned the object of his affections, controlled them.

He hadn’t expected that in his time chasing Gabi that it would really be Nigel that he’d fall for. This realisation dawned on him as he dangled above the lake, having had plenty of time to consider the reasons he was there. He watched in horror as Nigel passed the engraved gun into Gabi’s hands, his body shaking in the taut rope as he saw her fingers close around the trigger. This was it, this was the end of Charlie Countryman.

It all happened in a blur, the shot was fired and the bullet went through the fabric of his shirt. Much to his dismay, next Darko let go of the rope that held him up. The air roared past his ears as he plummeted towards the lake below, unable to find his voice, except for one word that came out in a hoarse cry. “ _Nigel!_ ”

He landed with a splash, the water rushing in to his mouth that was still open from the cry to the man he longed for. Struggling, spluttering for air, he tried to swim back to the surface, the weight of the rope dragging him down. The surprises didn’t end when he felt a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist, hauling him up and away from the approaching sirens, away from the smell of blood. Charlie found himself holding on for dear life to the bare back of his rescuer, fading in to unconsciousness as they swam from the scene.

 

It took him two hours to regain consciousness, his nose inhaling the dust and aroma of a room he didn’t recognise. That unfamiliarity forced him from the darkness and combined with a violent cough, forced him into a state of awareness. Sitting up in what he now recognised to be a bed, he looked around the room, dim but lit with the last vestiges of daylight as the sun set outside. Eyes fell upon a tired, bloody man, sitting in a chair next to the bed.

Taking a deep breath, he chanced speaking, voice still cracked from the abuse he’d received. “Nigel,” He asked tremulously, “Is that you?” His hair, untied, fell into his face as he leaned forward to get a better look at the man sitting beside him. “Who else would it _fucking_ be, _fucking Mickey Mouse_?” There was something there, beneath the anger and irritation, which spoke of untapped warmth. The only question in Charlie’s mind was to whom was that warmth aimed?

“Y-you’re here? You saved me? Why? Where’s Gabi?” The questions came out rapidly, the nervous American unable to control his tongue when he realised he was what seemed to be alone, in a room with someone whose sanity he would definitely put into question.

The room darkened now, and obscured the tired face and flash of irritation that ran over the Romanian’s face, though Charlie could see the briefest hint of it and gasped when he felt the Romanian’s hand shoot forward to grasp his chin. He felt his breath, hot on his face, with undertones of smoke and booze. This didn’t help him focus on the words Nigel spoke but he tried. “Do you always have to ask so many questions, you fucking idiot? Yes, I fucking saved you, because you called my fucking name when you fell. Not hers. _Mine_. Have you had the hots for me all this time, you little fag?” 

Charlie tried to stammer an answer out, but before he could get one word past his lips, he felt those of the Romanian’s upon his. Searing, demanding and passionate, the stubble on Nigel’s face scratching against Charlie’s own facial hair. His whole body shook and his hands sought for purchase, scrabbling until they managed to take hold of lean shoulders, unsure of what to do until his body decided for him. He returned that kiss and held on to the assassin, sweat trickling down from his forehead. 

Seconds later, Charlie was on his back, against what must have passed for a bed in Romania. When he felt the sheets touch his skin, he jolted in the realisation that he was naked. Struggling, he moved his hands down to push at Nigel and demanding an answer with more courage than he’d felt seconds earlier. “Why the fuck am I naked, Nigel?” He hissed out, eyes glaring into the cold ones that were mere inches from his face. With an irritated huff, Nigel moved to straddle Charlie’s legs, his own on either side of Charlie’s hips. “You can be so fucking dense sometimes, Charlie,” He felt that breath on his face again as Nigel leaned down, felt those teeth and gasped as Nigel grazed them along the sensitive flesh on his neck. “You fell into a lake, you fucking moron, do you really want to get fucking pneumonia from soaked clothes? You’re naked and dry. Now shut the fuck up.”

So, it had really happened, Charlie realised. Nigel had heard him, had jumped into the lake to rescue him and though he wasn’t sure where Gabi was, what mattered to him was who was here with him in that moment. He gingerly reached out to stroke a hand through the damp and slightly blood matted locks of the man before him, his fear forcing him to take it slow. He was rewarded with another kiss to his chapped lips, before it descended into a clash of tongues and teeth as desperation took them both over. It was a blur of limbs as Nigel struggled to remove his own clothes and, with no small sense of smugness, Charlie helped the man disrobe. At least it would get that awful dog shirt off of his body. Throwing the clothes they took off between them to the side, Charlie let out an uneasy moan as he felt himself being pushed back into the mattress, his legs spread by Nigel moving in between them. He’d never done this, he was no fag, but his body wanted Nigel and was betraying him by stirring in the hand that had begun to stroke his cock.

It didn’t take long before Charlie swelled in Nigel’s hand, erect and beginning to leak a touch of pre-come from the blushed tip of his penis, his mouth bruised and opened in a silent moan. Charlie’s body undulated against Nigel’s hand as it kept teasing moans and further desire from him, dazed as he felt a moist finger press against his perineum, before it moved up to work up to the first knuckle inside his entrance. When had Nigel lubed his fingers up? More to the point, how the hell did he know to have lube? It hurt, but that sensation was lessened and even muted when he felt a warm mouth engulf his straining cock.He swore, twisted and bucked up, frustrated and yelling when he felt strong hands pin his hips down. The mouth around him pulled up, and Nigel muttered against the head of Charlie’s penis with a shit-eating grin. “Now, now, Charlie. You better calm down, or you’ll fucking come before I’ve even fucked you. If you do that, I will bash your head in on the headboard.” Suitably chastised, Charlie laid back and whimpered Nigel’s finger finally pushed inside all the way. He shifted in discomfort, but found his voice for a moan once that finger tapped his prostate. 

Evidently, Nigel was spurred on by his moans, because soon Charlie felt a second finger breach him. He was given a few moments to adjust, before they began thrusting within the unspoiled cavern of his body. Within moments, Charlie found himself reduced to a trembling, moaning mess, begging for more. “Nigel,” He panted out, voice husky and pupils dilated with lust. “I need you.” That was all the possessive man needed to hear before Charlie felt fingers leave him, and something far wider than what had penetrated him before slid in the pathway fingers had made. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been keeping, head falling back against the worn pillows with a loud groan, betraying his desire, his lust for the man above him. It didn’t go unrewarded, and Charlie had to brace himself by fisting the sheets as Nigel began a brutal pace. He felt the moan of the Romanian against his ear, then lower as teeth bit down on his neck, marking Charlie as his.

He belonged to Nigel now, Charlie realised, as a strangled moan was wrenched from his throat by a particularly precise thrust brushing over his prostate. He was still so very new to this, and it was starting to burn between his legs, the feeling of friction between them and his hole being used and stretched for the first time. It would be hell trying to walk tomorrow, but for now, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. His arms locked around the Romanian as his thrusts grew erratic, unable to last much longer under this assault. Nigel’s pace picked up further and he lifted Charlie by his hips to angle his thrusts in deeper, the movements growing erratic as he approached his climax.

With a shared scream and a few more grunted thrusts from Nigel, Charlie spilled his load between them, coating Nigel’s stomach with his semen. Nigel didn’t last much longer, the American tightening around him throwing him over the edge into the sea of his own orgasm. He pulled out quickly and came against Charlie’s ass, painting it with his adoration. Spent and exhausted, Charlie lay there and shuddered as he felt Nigel roll off of him. Wiping the sweat from his head, he laughed and looked to Nigel, just a few words uttered by the trembling voice. “You’re fucking _crazy_ , you know that, Nigel?” Charlie muttered, a smile on his face as Nigel lay back with a smug smirk and a trite nod.

In the blissful glow of their shared orgasm, Charlie’s moist head curled against the broad chest of the man he adored, he decided to chance the question again, finding that he didn’t much care what the answer would be after being fucked so well. “Where is Gabi, Nigel?” He heard a sigh, and the answer that followed. “She’s dead, Charlie,” Nigel looked to him as he spoke, tilting the head of the American up, forcing Charlie look into his cold eyes. “We _both_ chose you, Charlie. What did you think would happen? When I want something, I take it, and I'll remove anyone in my way.” With a disjointed laugh, Charlie fell back against the Romanian and kissed him. It dawned on him, that really, he didn’t much mind. He'd fulfilled his mother's last wish in coming to Bucharest, and unexpectedly, he found love in the arms of a Romanian assassin.


End file.
